Cold air blankets her face.

Head hangs low in the place where hoax runs more than blood.

In mirrors of truth, she dares not to gaze.

These years compelled of importance.

She remembers the scent of chariness.

Perceived happier than she felt.

Everyday repeating. 

Sitting, listening, working, sitting, listening, working.

Sit.

Listen.

Work.

Freshman year innocence destroyed under whispers, tears, and fears.

Her youthful flings turn into grief of the undead. 

She's consistent on mistakes, restarting and improving.

Others melt into a pot of familiarity.

Overwhelmed in her wistful state.

Staff overworked, school overfilled.

Lecturing children who need hugs.

This version of her only exists here.

Pride has no place here.

Seems solitary screams for her.

Dreams are born here to be replaced with reasonability. 

Freshman for two years.

Senior for two weeks.

5 rings and it's over.

Everyday she waits for the fifth ring,

until she longs for the sound of the bell and the smell of isolation.